


Push My Fingers Through

by peevee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, M/M, PWP, pornlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peevee/pseuds/peevee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s always like this, John stumbling in Sherlock’s wake, wide-eyed and wondering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Push My Fingers Through

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghoulkitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoulkitten/gifts).



> Uh. So. Porn?
> 
> Written pre series 3, it's just been sitting half-finished in my gdocs for forever, and I thought it was about time to release it into the wild. 
> 
> ;)

Sherlock isn’t a coy man. 

The only time John’s ever seen him tentative is when he’s trying to apologise, and the slick touch of his tongue on John’s lower lip definitely, definitely isn’t apologetic. John’s shaking; hideously, ridiculously nervous as he opens his mouth against Sherlock’s and tries to remember how to breathe.

They pull apart by increments, still so close together that everything is a blur of pink skin and dark eyes, and John’s about to lean in again when Sherlock says, soft, “I want you to come in my mouth.”

John nearly bites his own tongue. His right hand is on Sherlock’s shoulder, solicitous, and his left rests awkwardly on his own knee. Sherlock is damp and smells of mud and fresh air, and his leg is pressed against John’s, thigh to calf. They’ve just kissed for the first time, it’s 4am, and John is half-dizzy with how ridiculous this all is.

“Um,” he says, carefully, “what?”

“Did I mumble?” says Sherlock, just before he leans forward and sucks on John’s lower lip. 

Fuck, John thinks. Oh, fuck.

-

He doesn’t know where to put his hands. Sherlock is crawling down his body with a look of single-minded determination, and John’s hands are hovering at his shoulders, wanting to pet his hair but not wanting to seem pushy. 

Fuck it. He cups the back of Sherlock’s head, and really, pushy is a moot point when your best friend is about to stick your cock in his mouth. Sherlock leans up into his hand briefly, then drops to his knees off the side of the sofa and breathes warmly against the crotch of John’s jeans.

“Ah!” gasps John, taken by surprise. His head is still spinning from the reality of kissing Sherlock, his hands tremble in the knots of Sherlock’s hair, and he should have known it would be like this. It’s always like this, John stumbling in Sherlock’s wake, wide-eyed and wondering.

Sherlock yanks his jeans open and there’s cool air, suddenly, like kisses against the tops of his thighs. He hears himself breathing in great gulps of air, and Sherlock is just fucking _rubbing_ his face against John’s boxers, letting out breathy little snuffling noises as he does it and it’s just _obscene_. He’s shameless. John can see that he’s got a hand shoved down his trousers already and he’s squirming against it, his tongue squirming against John’s boxers like he just can’t wait, like he’s desperate for it.

He worms his way inside through sheer determination, and that soft little touch of hot, wet, it has John yanking accidentally on Sherlock’s hair in shock, and _that_ makes Sherlock release little _nng-nnn_ noises against him, which is just unbelievably fucking hot. He tugs again, and Sherlock is scrabbling at the waistband of John’s boxers and yanking his cock out and just _shoving_ his mouth down, and John can feel him choking on it, moaning, oh _fuck_.

It’s sloppy; wet, slippery mouth and tongue and edges of tooth and the hot, tight clutch of Sherlock’s throat swallowing around the sensitive tip of his cock. And Sherlock, Sherlock is making _noises_ , greedy little whines as he claws his fingers at John’s hips and chokes on John’s cock. John can’t do much more than heave in crooked breaths, mouth open stupidly, vision blurring. He watches as there’s a slick hint of tongue, then Sherlock’s mouth is going slack around him, Sherlock is lifting his gaze, eyes big and dark and beseeching. He doesn’t have to ask twice. 

Slowly, John lowers himself off the sofa, his cock still shoved halfway down Sherlock’s throat. He ends up kneeling over him, legs on either side of his neck, and as he leans down to cup one hand gently under Sherlock’s head he lets his hips jerk forward a little. Sherlock whines through his nose. It’s exquisite, the slow push and pull in and out of that lush, slick mouth, and John doesn’t hold back, just strokes the skin behind Sherlock’s ear as he slowly fucks his throat, feels each sweet contraction, each halting swallow.

Behind him, under him, he can feel Sherlock squirming. It’s completely clear that he’s desperately turned on by this, but John can’t quite believe it when his fingers go suddenly rigid against John’s thighs, when his breath billows out of his nose in sharp, harsh puffs and he moans, _nnn, nn!_

“Oh, oh _jesus_ ,” John moans, the sound curling low and intent in his belly, “oh god, take it, take it,” and Sherlock is still licking at him half-heartedly, mouth going soft with orgasm but it’s enough, and before he can even think about it he’s pulling out, coming moaning all over Sherlock’s lovely face, his pink-swollen mouth, pushing his cock back in and letting Sherlock suck the aftershocks out of him as he shudders and gasps.

They roll over slowly, pulling and pushing until they’re lying side by side, mouths moving slow and lazy. John curls Sherlock’s sticky hair around his fingers, slides his knee up and over Sherlock’s thigh.

“So,” Sherlock murmurs, hoarse, oh god. John’s cock gives a hopeful twitch.

“That was...um,” John manages.

“ _Um?_ ” Sherlock says. His face is scrunching into his little mischievous grin, only slightly thrown off balance by, _fuck_ , by the come still sliding slowly down over his chin. John hesitates, then leans forward to lick at it, a little tentative until Sherlock breathes in sharply, and John is close enough to hear how unsteady it is. It’s insane, the hard clench of want that spikes through him at that little sound, and he moves to suck at Sherlock’s lower lip, greedy in a way he rarely feels.

“Want to do so many things to you,” he murmurs, bitter salt in the back of his throat. Sherlock breathes into his mouth, softly pliant like he never is.

“I’d like that,” he says.


End file.
